


Flowers and an Unexpected Party

by starsinherblood



Series: Rayllum Valentine's Week 2021 [2]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, Meet-Cute, Viren (briefly), but also meet-awkward because it's rayllum, rayllum valentine's week, rayllumvalentines on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:29:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29541009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsinherblood/pseuds/starsinherblood
Summary: Callum can't help but try to cheer up his newest customer, especially when her unusual floral arrangement request is livening up his own afternoon.
Relationships: Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince)
Series: Rayllum Valentine's Week 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2159226
Comments: 26
Kudos: 59





	Flowers and an Unexpected Party

**Author's Note:**

> My fic for Rayllum Valentine's Week day 5, "Flowers"! And yeahhh this is based on that one prompt that I'm sure everyone has seen floating around.
> 
> Post-March-2020 disclaimer: This takes place in a world where COVID isn't a thing, and therefore no one has to wear masks, and you can still invite a crap ton of people over to your friend's house for a last minute dinner party without asking (but you shouldn't).

“Ugh, _tonight_?” Callum groans into his phone, sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder since his arms are laden with as many bags of potting mix as he can safely lift at once. “You can’t be _serious_.”

“I mean, we have them over for dinner on pretty much a weekly basis anyway,” Ezran says on the other end of the line, trying as usual to be charitable, though even he sounds a bit exasperated by the whole thing.

“Well, yeah, when Dad _invites_ them, with several days’ notice _at least_.”

Ezran sighs. “I know, I know. But, to be fair, it’s in honor of a huge milestone in Viren’s career that was only finalized yesterday. Dad says he worked really hard for it, and he’s very excited.”

“Oh, yes, so excited that he decides throwing a huge celebratory fancy party is the only way to do it justice.” He drops the bags on their assigned bottom shelf with a satisfying series of _thunks_. “Except, of course, there is no way he could _possibly_ rent a big enough place on such short notice, but fortunately his best friend has a gigantic home that would be the _perfect_ place to host it. _Surely_ Harrow couldn’t begrudge his best friend such a _minor_ favor—”

“Callum,” Ezran says wearily. “ _I know_. But he’s Soren and Claudia’s dad. And _our_ Dad’s best friend.” There’s a pause. “Just . . . try, okay?”

“I guess I can promise to _try_ ,” Callum says.

“Plus,” Ezran says slyly, “Claudia will be there. And it’s a black tie event.”

“Okay, hanging up now.” Callum clicks off his phone, cutting off his little brother’s cackling, and shakes his head with a smile, though it quickly fades. Finished with restocking the shelves, Callum surveys the store and runs through the checklist in his mind. The potted plants have all been watered, online and telephone orders have been prepared and set out for delivery, and the new seasonal arrangements are now on display. Satisfied that he’s completed his chores, he heads back towards the cashier’s station.

There’s only been two customers all morning, and none in the shop at the moment. When it’s slow, Callum can just hop up on the counter and work in his sketchbook. There’s plenty of interesting subjects in the shop, between the many varied plants and flowers and the odd knickknacks that Callum’s quirky boss picks up and brings back to either decorate or sell. And he can always pull from his eidetic memory for inspiration. Opening to a blank page, he starts his sketch with heavy, angular lines—which is not how you’re supposed to start a drawing, but hey, what are sketchbooks _for_?

He doesn’t care for his dad’s best friend even at the best of times, which he’s always felt guilty about. He loves Harrow, who is technically his stepdad, and despite a rocky start—and the death of Callum’s mother—they’ve grown much closer over recent years. But Callum can’t say the same for Viren. Of all the inconsiderate, entitled, self-absorbed . . . He’s not really sure what sort of case Viren considers a “huge milestone in his career,” and frankly, he doesn’t want to know.

“ _Hey, you!”_

Startled, Callum nearly falls backward off the counter. There’s a customer standing next to him; he must not have heard the door jingle when it opened. Or seen her walk up. Or heard her call him the first few times.

She’s a girl about his own age in a loose t-shirt and jeans, with platinum blond hair falling just past her shoulders. She looks vaguely irritated, but also a little bewildered, like she wasn’t expecting to find a scrawny high school kid sitting cross-legged on the counter of a florist shop, hunched over a pad of paper like a socially-challenged gargoyle. Which, fair.

Callum coughs, embarrassed. “Sorry. What can I help you with?”

She bites her lip, lavender eyes unsure, then her face hardens as she evidently comes to a decision and slaps several bills onto the counter next to him. “How do I passive-agressively say 'fuck you' in flower?"

Callum blinks. “Uh . . .” At an utter loss for words, he allows the first thing he thinks of out his mouth, which is never a good idea. "I mean, buy me dinner first?"

The girl just stares at him.

Callum, who is regretting every choice he's ever made that's led him to this moment, is pretty sure his face is producing enough heat to satisfy all the tropical plants in the store. "Uh. I mean, we don't have any pre-made arrangements like that? I could assemble one, but it'll be kinda pricey."

It’s the girl’s turn to blink. “Oh," she says, looking a little taken aback. Her frown softens a little, and the fists at her sides unclench; she’d been prepared to argue for it. “That’s okay. I’m willin’ to pay whatever. It’ll be worth it.” Her voice has a pleasant Scottish burr.

Callum hops down, tossing his sketchbook onto the space he’d just vacated and brushing eraser shavings from his _Caldera Floral_ t-shirt. Hopefully he can refrain from saying anything stupid long enough to allow his face to return to a normal shade. “Okay, well . . .” He pauses, tapping his chin. “Sorry, let me think. I can honestly say no one has requested anything like this before.” Numerous flowers flash behind his eyes, and he picks and chooses based on their meanings until the resulting bouquet assembles itself in his mind. “Okay, I think I’ve got just the thing. And it’s gonna be pretty striking, too.”

The girl’s eyes flash. “Perfect.”

“Is this an order for delivery, or will you be taking it with you?”

“I’ll be takin’ it with me,” she says. Her feet are planted, hands resting on her hips. “I’m going to deliver it myself.”

Callum raises his eyebrows. He swipes an empty vase from behind the counter and hands it to her. “Follow me, then.”

xXx

Fortunately for Callum’s customer, the owner of Caldera Floral isn’t your typical florist. The shop sports a number of flowers that aren’t found in most. This means that most of them, naturally, aren’t good sellers on their own, but as Lujanne grows them in her home greenhouse as a hobby, that really isn’t an issue. And Callum, whose favorite part of the job by far is coming up with unique arrangements—which is why Lujanne hired him to begin with—is a master at incorporating whatever the (endearingly) odd woman brings from home.

Callum leads the girl over to a line of potted plants in front of the front window, where they can get some sun. He shears a deep pink flower from a long box planter and holds it up for inspection. “Our first item, Miss . . .?”

“Rayla.” She holds the vase almost like a shield, knuckles white. Hmmm.

“Miss Rayla.” Callum offers her the flower, and she takes it after a pause. “The horseshoe geranium, symbolizing stupidity.”

A grin slowly spreads over her face.

Encouraged, Callum swipes a pair of garden shears from a nearby shelf and steps over to a large pot. “Foxglove, which usually means insincerity.” He shears off a stalk, and she places it in the vase with the geranium.

“Then meadowsweet, because we need a filler flower, and they symbolize uselessness.” Callum waves at another long planter.

“Really?” Rayla asks, sounding disappointed. “They grow all over the place at home, and I’ve always loved them. I’m honestly surprised you stock them, since they’re more of a wildflower.” She leans over this time to pick one.

Callum shrugs. “Ehhh, that’s my boss for you. She’s not one to conform to the status quo, like at all.” He glances around the shop. “Honestly, at least half of what we’ve got you won’t find in most florist shops.” He grins at her. “Lucky for you.”

She smiles back, then closes her eyes and inhales deeply. Her face smooths out and her shoulders relax a bit, and Callum feels just a little triumphant. “It’s too bad about the meaning, though,” she says, placing it into the vase.

“Oh! Oh!” Callum feels his face light up as he dances towards the back, where they keep the more standard flowers in display vases. “Would you say you’re . . . ?” He pulls out a long-stemmed yellow flower and presents it with a flourish, sure he’s grinning like a fool, but he can’t help himself.

She just looks at him, amused, but clearly confused.

“Disappointed!” Callum crows. “Yellow carnation!”

She laughs and takes the flower. The vase is now propped against her hip in a loose grip, her posture more relaxed. “You are a _total_ dork.” But she doesn’t say it meanly; her tone implies that “dork” is an agreeable thing to be. 

Ah, well. It’s not like she had a stellar first impression of him anyway. And who cares, if it helped cheer her up a bit? He plucks a final flower from a display vase. “And finally, to complete the arrangement . . .orange lilies, for hatred.”

She grins.

“So, will the chosen flowers suffice?”

“Absolutely.” Her grin fades into a small frown. “But just these? It looks a little . . . empty.”

“Oh, I’ll fill the vase,” Callum assures her. “I just wanted you to approve the choices before I set up the whole arrangement.”

“Oh, okay. That makes sense,” Rayla says, looking a little relieved.

As Callum starts putting the arrangement together, Rayla wanders around the shop, checking out the displays and the potted plants they have available. He keeps an eye on her, and can’t help but notice when her hands drift back to grasp her purse straps, and how her shoulders are starting to tense up again.

Well, that won’t do. Callum wracks his brain for a decent topic of conversation as he trims several geraniums. The only one he can come up with is kind of lame, but it’s better than nothing. "So, uh, what other flowers from back home are you fond of?"

Rayla ponders for a moment as she meanders back towards where he’s working. "Flatulilies."

Callum frowns, sure he heard her wrong. "Come again?"

"Flatulilies," she repeats, completely deadpan. "You know, peristinkies? Fart flowers?"

Callum snickers, but it dies out when the look on her face doesn't change. "You're not serious?"

"Oh, yes," she says, nodding. "As long as you view them from a distance, out of smell-range, they're really very lovely. They're a gorgeous . . ." Her eyes, wandering the store, land on a vase of african violets in the corner. ". . . deep purple color."

Callum narrows his eyes and points at her accusingly with his shears. "You're making this up."

"I'm not!" Rayla protests, throwing up her hands, eyes wide in an attempt to look guileless. But she can't smother the grin slowly creeping across her face. "They only grow in Scotland, and no one's ever bothered to try to export them, though I can't imagine why."

She holds his gaze another few seconds, but then gives up on any pretense of seriousness and bursts out laughing.

Callum shakes his head, smiling. "You almost had me going, there."

"I did have you going, for a little bit!" she cackles.

"Okay, maybe for like, 3 seconds," Callum admits as her mirth settles. "But if there _was_ such a thing as fart flowers, my boss would absolutely be growing some herself." He huffs good-naturedly, shaking his head. “And _you_ called _me_ a dork.”

Rayla’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit, your boss. This won’t get you in trouble, will it? Moon above, I didn’t even _think_ of that . . .”

Callum snorts. “Are you kidding? Lujanne is going to _love_ this. She’ll be pissed she wasn’t here for it.”

“Oh, good,” she says, shoulders dropping from her ears. He wonders if she’s always this tense, or if it’s just because of whatever situation is prompting her to buy such a . . . unique floral arrangement.

He’s a little hesitant to ask, since it’s really none of his business, but he’s dying to know and he’s already made a complete fool of himself several times over already. “So, you don’t have to answer, of course, but I’m really wondering . . .”

“Who I want to tell to fuck off in flower?” She snorts. “That’s fair.” She leans over the counter, fingers absently plucking at the flowers already in the vase. “So, my uncle, who I’m very close with because he and his husband basically raised me, had a legal claim filed against him where he works. It was related to his refusing to work with a representative from another company, which he did because that company has a reputation for pretty shady under-the-table testing and labor practices.”

“Good for him!” Callum says, trimming a stalk of foxglove.

“My other uncle and I thought so, too,” the girl says. “But of course the representative for Elarion International didn’t, and neither did Runaan’s boss, because they can’t afford to upset a big corporation like that and they really need the business the opportunity would bring them, apparently. And they couldn’t just ask someone else, because Runaan is the only one whose experience makes him qualified for that sort of thing, so it turned into this whole shitshow, and HR and legal and management got involved, and my uncle had to fly all the way out here for the hearing…”

She looks so upset that Callum has to catch himself from reaching out to touch her shoulder. Instead, he wordlessly hands her offers her a handful of meadowsweet. She allows a small smile, fingers caressing the flowers.

“Anyway, the third-party attorney who picked up the representative’s case was an absolute slimeball who _somehow_ got ahold of all this ‘evidence’”—she sneers the word—“disprovin’ all of Runaan’s claims, as well as some throwin’ shade on _him_.”

“What!” Callum exclaims. “Everyone knows Elarion International is extremely unethical."

“Yeah, but can we legally prove it?” she asks sourly. “But the whole legal shitshow is finally over, and though Runaan’s not technically gettin’ fired, they _are_ forcin’ him to resign in disgrace since he still won’t work with Elarion International.”

“That’s terrible,” Callum says sincerely, adding a last few meadowsweet blooms to fill out the vase.

“Yeah." Rayla takes a deep breath, then squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. “But we’ll be seein’ them one last time tonight before we fly back home tomorrow, and you better believe this bouquet is headed straight for that loathsome attorney.”

“And just so it doesn’t go over his head . . .” Callum searches through the mess of stuff on the shelves underneath the counter. It has to still be here somewhere—“Aha!” He straightens triumphantly, waving a small notepad with “The Language of Flowers” in flowy type at the top. Rayla leans across the counter and watches as he writes out the name of each flower in the arrangement along with its meaning. Once finished he slips it in a blank card, which in turn he nestles among the flowers themselves.

“ _Brilliant_.” Rayla takes the arrangement, admiring it in her arms for a moment. She looks over at Callum, grinning widely, mischievous glee on her face, and Callum knows he’s going to have to capture this moment in watercolors later.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Rayla says as Callum rings her up. “This is going to be _awesome_.”

xXx

The evening is turning out to be the exact kind of a nightmare Callum had been afraid it would be. He very, very badly wants to escape to his room, but he can’t abandon Ezran and Harrow like that. There are at least thirty high-society guests at this point—not just the people who worked with Viren on the case he’s celebrating, but also what seems to be most of his colleagues as well as high-profile acquaintances he wants to impress. And he’s certainly trying his best, meandering through the ballroom (yes, Callum’s house, the family mansion, has a ballroom) and sauntering up to each group of guests in turn.

This, of course, leaves Harrow to handle all the behind-the-scenes work, as well as deal with any disgruntled guests whose preferences aren’t being catered to, but who don’t seem to think that should be affected by the facts that a) this was an extremely last minute affair and b) Viren didn’t disclose his guest list ahead of time. Harrow handles it all with grace and civility, but the skin around his eyes is tight, his voice is carefully measured, and Callum knows Viren has gone too far this time.

Callum had been hoping that even if he was stuck at the event all night, he could at least spend some time with Claudia—Viren’s daughter and a childhood friend of Callum’s, for whom he’s been harboring a (probably not-so-secret) crush for years. But she’s sidled up to a crowd of successful businesspeople, attempting to forge some connections and lay groundwork for an internship in the future. Her brother Soren, who is no more fond of these types of events than Callum is (for different reasons), has made himself scarce, and Callum can’t blame him.

Callum and Ezran, for their parts, have been kept busy greeting the guests as they come and running odd errands across the house for Harrow, as well as helping out the swamped kitchen and cleaning staff as needed. At the moment, Callum’s headed back from the kitchens hoping to catch his dad, to report that they’re almost out of white wine. A small group of very distinguished-looking people holding champagne glasses side-eye him as he scoots passed them down the hallway.

“Don’t mind me, I just live here,” Callum says sourly, and they look away.

He catches sight of Harrow across the ballroom and starts to make his way over through the crowd of people. But he's hardly halfway through when he hears the last person he wants to see call his name.

"Callum! Callum, my boy!"

Callum grits his teeth into a smile and turns.

Viren, champagne glass in one hand, clasps Callum's shoulder with the other and faces his current entourage. "Harrow's stepson, Callum," he says. Callum's smile tightens. He's used to the jibe, but it still stings. Despite having been formally adopted years ago, and Harrow only ever referring to Callum as his son, Viren has always made a point to emphasize the distinction.

Viren is still talking. “Such a talented young man. Skipped a grade in elementary school. Quite passionate when he puts his mind to it, and with a memory that is simply astounding. It’s such a shame he has no interest in law or politics. Isn’t that right, Callum?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I—” 

“—turned down a very cushy financial aid package I arranged and the slot I secured for him in the pre-law program at Katolis University next year. I always advised Harrow to steer his children towards more practical hobbies, to cultivate an interest in more lucrative careers, but young Callum here has his heart set on becoming some sort of artist. Remind me again, my boy, was it painting?”

“Actually, I—”

“Well, it’s something with traditional mediums, yes? In this day and age, nearly everything has moved digital. I must say, some of the advertisements my company’s graphic designers have come up with truly _are_ works of art.” Viren finally releases Callum’s shoulder and steps away. “That would be such a good way to put a new spin on an outdated career, wouldn’t it? Take my Claudia, for example—”

The group is moving on, and no one is paying him any attention anymore, but shock roots Callum to the floor. It quickly turns to anger. Fists clenched at his sides, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly.

The door chime echoes through the foyer for the thirty-second bazillionth time. How many more people are coming? Did Viren invite the entire opposing side, too? That would be exceptionally petty, but Callum wouldn't put it past him. 

“Ezran, could you get the door, please?” Harrow calls.

“Sure, Dad!”

Callum finally catches his dad’s eye, but Harrow jerks his head in the direction of the door and gives his _go help your brother_ face. Callum rolls his eyes, but it’s not like any guest-sitting job is better than another. And telling Harrow about the white wine won’t really do anything but stress him out more.

He enters the foyer and stops in his tracks.

Between two middle-aged men in suits stands Rayla, the girl from earlier. She’s wearing an A-line knee length dress in a teal-green that contrasts nicely with her pale hair, arranged in a braided half-updo. And in her arms, of course, sits the floral arrangement he'd constructed for her.

Ezran, already chattering away, takes their coats and leads the two men—they must be her uncles—off towards the main area. Rayla starts to go with them, but the shorter one with long hair the same platinum-blond as hers shakes his head. She frowns, concerned, but he says something to her quietly and she nods reluctantly.

She looks lost, glancing around the foyer, but Callum’s not going to let the only decent guest who’s shown up all night just flounder. Maybe he can even help her find the lawyer she’s looking for in the mob of people that has stormed his house.

“Anyone I can help you find, Miss?”

She turns to him, startled, and glances him up and down. “Callum? From Caldera Floral?” 

He grins. “At your service again, it seems.”

He wilts a little when she doesn’t seem too happy to see him again. “What are you doing here?”

“Other than trying not to give into the impulse to call the fire department?” He shrugs. “Making sure all our distinguished guests have whatever their 2-sizes-too-small hearts desire.”

Her face is still stormy. “This is your dad’s party?”

“ _Hell_ no,” Callum says with feeling. “This is our good family friend Viren’s party.” He glances towards the ballroom and scowls. "Since he's _such_ a good friend, of course, he knew it would be totally fine to throw a last minute dinner party at our house, to which he's invited any colleague he's ever had, and then some, without asking permission first." He smirks in grim satisfaction. “The good news is, I think my dad is _finally_ at his wit’s end with him.” 

“Oh.” She lets out a breath, and forcibly relaxes her shoulders.

“Come on, let’s get out of the entryway.” She’s even more tense and uncomfortable than when she appeared at the shop, which is saying a lot. “The food’s back in the main room, and when you’re ready, maybe I can help you find who you’re looking for?”

She hesitates a moment, but then nods. He’ll take it.

He ushers her to the ballroom, and quickly snags a corner table. She sets the flowers down and sits across from him. She scans the room, but stays quiet. Her eyes fall on Viren, who’s just approached her uncles, then breaks her gaze away and scowls at the table.

Callum doesn’t mind filling the silence to keep it from becoming awkward, because for one thing, that bar is pretty low as far as his interactions with her have gone. And for another, he is definitely not done complaining about tonight. "Honestly, I don’t know what Dad saw in Viren in the first place. I mean, seriously, who just assumes it’s okay to invite anyone over to a friend’s house, much less throw an entire fancy shmancy party? For like, any reason, not just because ‘won a landmark case for your career’ . . . or . . . something . . . " He trails off, a horrid realization dawning. 

Rayla grimaces, eyes still on the tablecloth. “Oh, is that how he’s phrasin’ it?”

"I _knew_ I didn't want to know what exactly this party was about. I _knew_ it. Stars, Rayla, I'm so _sorry_ —"

She shakes her head. “What for? It’s not your fault.” Still looking at the table, she twists one of the cloth napkins in her hands. “Actually, I wanted to say thank you.”

“For the floral arrangement? You already did, but you’re welcome, of course.”

“Not just that.” She takes a deep breath. “This whole week has been unbelievably shitty. A transatlantic flight, being jet-lagged something awful, sitting through countless hearings that somehow managed to be both utterly boring and completely infuriating.” She pauses.

Callum isn’t sure what to say, so this time he does gently take her hand, resting on the table.

She doesn’t pull away, just looks up at him. “And then, on a whim, I walk into a florist shop. And this unbelievably dorky, friendly guy just absolutely jumps on board my pretty inappropriate, crazy request, no questions asked. Well, almost no questions,” she says, smiling slightly, squeezing his hand. “And he even managed to cheer me up a bit. I’m not kidding when I say you made me laugh for the first time all week.”

Callum averts his eyes, pulling at his shirt collar. He must have buttoned it up too tight. Or maybe it’s his tie?

But she’s not done, because apparently this girl he just met today has decided she wants to kill him with embarrassment. “And _then_ we show up at this unbelievably petty dinner party our adversary invited us too, that we couldn’t turn down without looking like complete graceless losers, and my uncle is sure as hell going to preserve what dignity he still has—” She shakes her head. “And then here you are, again. Like some kind of incredibly awkward guardian angel."

“Nah,” Callum says, looking away and releasing her hand, sure his ears are turning red. “I’m just a hopeless romantic bard, who helps ladies on their quests.” _Oh fuck, oh fuck, why did I_ say _that? Hopeless romantic, really?_

“No, you’re more like . . .” She scrutinizes him, biting her lip and narrowing her eyes, and oh yeah, he’s definitely turning red. “A mage,” she says finally, with certainty. The smile on her face is a little brighter. “A mage with some kind of nature powers. Breathing fresh air into awful situations."

“Well, you’re my knight in shining armor, then,” Callum replies, because screw it, she already thinks he's a total dork. “Here to rescue me from the throes of the petty dark mages and their calculated, pointed small talk.”

“No, I’m an assassin!” she says, grinning now. She jumps up, eyes bright, and lifts the floral arrangement into her arms. “Here to slay the head dark mage who's invaded your home with a beautifully executed subtle strike.” She winks at him. “With help from my trusty _good_ mage friend, of course.”

He blinks at her, then looks across the room to Viren, then at the flowers in her arms. The bouquet of flowers that sends a very specific message, complete with a note that spells out said message.

A note that happens to be in Callum’s handwriting.

Shit.

Ah, well. He was going to have to stand up for himself sooner or later. It might as well be now. And honestly . . . he can’t think of a better way for it to go down. Because, you know what? He kind of wants nothing more than to tell Viren to fuck off, too.

This girl is going to end up turning his life upside down, isn’t she?

Callum stands and takes an exaggerated bow, then straightens and offers her his arm. “Allow me.”

xXx

_Dear Callum,_

_I cannot express how excited I was when I got your package in the mail! I was absolutely blown away by your painting! My uncles were also very impressed; Ethari wants you to know that you caught my “Up-To-No-Good” face perfectly. Runaan was pretty suspicious that a boy did a whole painting of me, though, just a heads up._

_Speaking of Runaan, he’s just found a new job with a company that aligns much better with his ideals. They even straight-up told him they were not at all bothered by the way he left his last job—in fact, they were very impressed by his commitment to his values and his conduct during the whole affair! The world can surprise you, sometimes._

_We’re all ecstatic, and to celebrate, my uncles agreed I could invite you out for a visit after school ends next month! Ezran is welcome too, but unfortunately bringing Bait overseas isn’t feasible. But he can spend as much time as he likes with Zym, my bearded dragon! I’d love to see you again, please let me know if you can come!_

_Alstroemeria and yellow roses,_

_Rayla_

**Author's Note:**

> According to Google, alstroemeria flowers and yellow roses symbolize friendship. Though, roses in general usually at least hint at something more, right? ;)
> 
> I have absolutely NO background in law or business and absolutely bullshitted the entire corporation-hearing-trial bit. I also have very little idea how florist shops work, but Lujanne definitely would not manage anything normally, so.


End file.
